


An Illuminating Conversation in a Dark Alley

by Libris



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Brick!Enjolras, Conversation, Intervention, M/M, Pining, Shared Dilemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libris/pseuds/Libris
Summary: Enjolras and Valjean share a few words at the barricades.———Enjolras turns and looks at the spy, and then again at the man beside him as it all falls together.I wonder if this is how old men feel, he thinks, shocked, to see your own mistakes in another and so want to spare them the same fate?





	An Illuminating Conversation in a Dark Alley

“Let me blow this man’s brains out.”

“This is just.” Says the police spy. Despite being restrained against the table of the taproom in such a humiliating manner, there is a certain dignity to him it is hard not to admire. His eyes do not waver from the man that has bought him.

Enjolras turns away. It is all he needs. Whatever history there is between them is not his to ponder.

“He is yours,” Enjolras tells the old man who has saved their lives.

It sits ill with him still. Enjolras does not wish for Javert’s death, or any death at all. He cannot hate his fellow Frenchman, no matter what side of the barricade they stand on. They have both done what they thought was just, for France. He has sent many of the volunteers home already to their families and their lives. But both Enjolras and this spy are here because they are willing to die for their country. It is an odd fellowship.

Enjolras does not waver, his conviction still burns hot and bright in him. If change must be bought in blood, he will buy it, the national guard signed the spy’s death warrant when they shot one of his fellow students.

He knows what he must do, and the proud cry of ‘ _vive la France’_ from the other side of the barricade, and the gunshot ring in his ears.

Enjolras is both happy to hand this duty over to another who desires it, as he is unhappy to see yet another corpse. But he has too many other concerns this night.

As the revolutionary turns away, his eyes stray, for just one moment, on the revolution’s savior's face, and it is as if the world has stopped. Enjolras turns and looks at the spy, and then again at the man beside him as it all falls together.

 _I wonder if this is how old men feel_ , he thinks, shocked, _to see your own mistakes in another and so want to spare them the same fate?_

“First, may I have a world with you, Monsieur?” He hears himself say to the man beside him.

Enjolras is already nodding to the back entrance of the taproom, but does not miss the look passing beneath the still waters of the other man’s expression. His hazel eyes are wide and dark. Though he stands as immovable as a fortress, there is fear there, unlike the steady thrum that has sat with the revolutionaries since the barricade arose. It is a fear of revelation, of secrets brought to light, and Enjolras would spare him being overheard, but he cannot spare him this conversation. It is a consolation that it is equally frightful and humiliating to himself.

He looks over his shoulder at his fellows, “I will not be long,” and does not wait for the other as he strides out the door into the alley.

He is afraid to read the expression on Grantaire's face. The drunk’s eyebrows are cocked and raised, and Enjolras knows something sardonic is on those drunk lips. He does not linger to look closer, and walks through the door a little faster.

The door shuts behind them, and everything is badly lit darkness and muffled sounds of siege.

The savior is staring at him warily, back straight, and a dangerous glint to his eye. There is tension in his muscles, but a placid ness on his face. Here is a cunning man Enjolras is glad to have with them, and he is equally as glad that this man is not their enemy.

His mind demands of the other, _you know him,_ but it tumbled out of his mouth truer as, “He means something to you.”

The man shifts in his posture, not relaxing but changing stance, “...I do not deny it.”

“You will free him.”

“I can deny that neither. I will do what I must.” The glint cuts into Enjolras like a bullet, “You would give me his life but now stop me from doing as I will with it?”

It is not exactly a challenge: it sounds too regretful. No, Enjolras has not misjudged this man at all, and he is glad of it. His jaw works, “As you say, he is yours. I will not stop you. Is he the reason you have come here?”

Strangely, Enjolras does not feel betrayed. No more than any of the volunteers he has sent home to their lives and families rather than die in this revolution doomed to fail. To protect the things they care about, isn’t that why they are here?

The man’s face relaxes greatly, the calm disintegrating into something as stubborn as it is weary, and he shakes his head, “No. I did not know he was here. I,” He pauses to look away, anguish briefly overtaking him, “I came for the boy Marius. My daughter loves him.”

There is a sharp pang in Enjolras chest, “You are a better man than many, Monsieur, to come here with such a selfless reason, but I fear he will not leave our cause.” He has given them all the choice, and it hurts to know if the loved ones they will leave behind, as it hurts to know their revolution might change little, “You are free to ask him. But that is not why I must speak to you.”

Enjolras nods back towards the door, the taproom and the spy beyond, to the barricade, to Grantaire. “I die here, and I will do so proudly for The Republic, but perhaps my death has given me some clarity, and with it I might do some good as of yet. I see the way you look at him, and I see myself, Monsieur. I look at another the same way.”

The man’s outer walls dissolve completely, and for one brief moment he is pale as a ghost, hunched in on himself and eyes wide with the fear of a mouse cornered by a cat, but Enjolras licks his lips and continues, “I see someone who means something to you, who you would give anything to make see you, to open his eyes and his heart. I also see that you have given up hope of it. But I beg you this, even if I have not the right, do not let him walk away from you knowing himself unloved.”

Enjolras has conviction and passion, a golden tongue, but it all comes to naught with Grantaire. These straightforward truths draped in eloquence have never reached the man’s ears. He stares as a man does, unseeing, into a dark room. What Enjolras would not give for a light. Even if he cannot bring the man to care for their cause and change his sardonic fatalism, would that Grantaire see him as a man.

The words seem to shake something deep within the man facing him, wide open and raw, and that strange vulnerability is strikingly dangerous. The glint in his eye has returned, “The man, with the wine, standing aside Javert—“

He is sharp, Enjolras will give him that, or maybe they mutually see themselves in each other. He smiles sadly, sweetly, “‘The drunk’, yes. He is infuriating, he is blind,  and I would do the same for him as you would for your spy, but still he will not see. Now it is too late, and I will die proudly for the Republic, and he will die with me, and it is too late for all of that.”

Suddenly there is an arm at his shoulder, “It is not to late.” Says the saviour, sharply, and then softens, “Too much love must die here tonight. If you would have me do this, you must do the same.”

“He would not believe me if I spoke of it plainly.”

A soft, sad laugh, “Neither will Javert, I am sure. He will think I am mocking him. But hearing this from you is strangely encouraging - I did not ever dare, before, but now I know in you the same longing, and it is too sad a thing.”

The look they share is knowing, and grieving, but it is also a promise.

“Then we will both speak of it, and let things fall as they may in these last hours. Perhaps it is better not to have this regret.”

“I can speak of regret, truly, it is not something I wish on anyone. Come, your men need you, and there is a spy I must deal with.”

As they turn back towards the door, Enjolras whispers, “You will shoot a bullet when he is gone, so there are no questions.”

“Yes.” Says the other man. “I thought the same.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This conversation jumped into my head and I pretty much spilled it onto the paper, but it didn’t work in the longer fic I’m working on so I’m leaving it as a stand alone. I considered a follow up scene, but I like it better as is, I think.
> 
> No beta, mistakes are my own.


End file.
